aranya #5: Kaththi

Kaththi wasn’t like other humans. The blood that ran through his veins pulsed with the beating heart of the forest. He was heresy. A poltergeist. A kind of curator, of history.
He was the poacher.
Of stories.
When Troy fell you might have missed him, somewhere in the epic city, going about his business, prodding events along. Whispering the right thing in the right ears, sticking his leg out in the right places. He would trip up time and plant dreams of world domination in the minds of princes, or of urchins. He gave Sisyphus company, and pleaded (along with Bhagiratha) with Siva to let the mesmerising Ganga out from his matted locks and into the world. He counseled Ganapathi when he was lost in the forest, and set the wheels in motion whenever the hydra-like juggernaut of time was stalled.
Kaththi was a footsoldier of the gods. He was a divine fixer without really knowing it himself. He knew the way the wind was blowing, and even the lingering aroma it carried with it before getting there. He didn’t keep his ear to the ground, because he didn’t need to (or because somebody would come and step on it).
Kaththi is the unsaid.
The afterthought.
The agent provocateur.
But you would never know it, if you meet him. Shifty bugger that he is.
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About teevramadhyam

'I became insane with long intervals of horrible sanity' -Poe
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